


September 2018, Toronto

by germanjj



Series: Buried Under Clear Glass (Finished Series) [5]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:28:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23479237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/germanjj/pseuds/germanjj
Summary: Sometimes love is so clear to see, visible for everyone around you, and yet you're not able to reach out and touch it, grab it, pull it towards you. It's like it's buried under clear glass.And sometimes, you can feel it at the back of your neck and it's your choice to turn around.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: Buried Under Clear Glass (Finished Series) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657570
Comments: 11
Kudos: 79





	September 2018, Toronto

I know that tonight is different. I’ve felt it getting dressed and ready to go out, saw it when I looked in the mirror one last time before turning to go. 

I’ve sensed it when I stepped into the room and saw him sitting by a table in the back, turned away from me; felt it like a glimmer I could see out of the corner of my eyes but which would turn out to be nothing at all when I would try to a look at it. I almost didn’t want to go over to him, wanted to wait a little bit longer at my spot where I could see him but he couldn’t see me. My heart tried to beat itself out of my chest when I did walk up to him, and for a moment, I was convinced I had a panic attack. 

I forgot about it the second he turned around and spotted me, jumping up in his chair and falling into my arms like we hadn’t seen each other in years. 

Now the feeling is back. As if a shadow is clinging to the back of my neck, reminding me everywhere I go that something is different, something had changed and that I needed to be careful, tread lightly, without giving me the full view of what it actually was that had changed. 

We’re alone here, that’s what stirred it up again. Just me and him in his hotel room. And his face, smiling and open, his laughter echoing through the room until it lands in my ears like a caress. I can’t stop watching his face.

Then Timmy yawns loudly, both his arms stretched out over him in a dramatic gesture, his shirt riding up so a sliver of his belly is showing.

I avert my gaze. Not fast enough, it seems as I see the amusement on Timmy’s face. I feel found out and nervous. On the verge of something. A realization. An understanding that had always been lurking in the shadows just waiting for me to be ready. I am not ready. Like a child, I want to slam the door shut to the truth that I know is hiding there. I wonder if Timmy knows what it is, maybe even tries to draw it out. Or he’s oblivious to all of this, has no inkling of the turmoil that’s distracting me, and would sober at the idea of it and would politely ask me to leave. I rub my neck and Timmy’s smile deepens. 

The shadow has a name now and my stomach turns with the sudden urge to run out of his hotel room and get as much space between us as possible. 

My body doesn’t cooperate, so I stay. Frozen to where I sit on the armchair across from him, on where we have spent the last hours except for bathroom and drink breaks. It is well into the morning, the sun already creeping up on the horizon if one of us would just bother to look. I should leave. I know I should. 

I tell him as much and see his face fall.

“No, no, you gotta stay!” He shakes his head vehemently, dramatically so, like everything he does when he’s excited or drunk, and tonight he’s a healthy or better even unhealthy mixture of both. 

“Dude, you’re clearly falling asleep on me. Let’s call it a night, okay?”

“Can’t you just stay here? Sleep with me?” There’s a hopeful look on his face, his eyes big, and I feel my face heat up. 

I wait a beat too long and screw up my chance of not making it awkward. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.” The words are a thin confession, defeated, and only later will I realize that I have planted that question in both our heads now. And that I had left the field wide open to what my answer would have been. 

He laughs out loud, though, carefree, and it eases some of the tension inside my chest. “No, no, no, I meant just sleeping, promise.”

“Tim, I’m not sure if this is a good idea.” I feel awful immediately, seeing the disappointment in his face. 

“Please,” he says, sounding more sober than I thought he was at this point. 

And so I stay. 

We stumble through his room, his clothes everywhere like little obstacles that we’re trying to avoid while getting ready for bed, and it’s awkwardly mundane as if getting ready for bed together is something we do all the time. Like brushing our teeth together and then slipping into the same bed is something we have done a thousand times before. 

Timmy turns the last light off and slips under the cover, his weight and the warmth of his skin seeping into the bed and into my body immediately, and I welcome it as if I’m thirsty for the feel of him.

With the sun almost up, I can see his face and he looks at me with a question he doesn’t need to ask out loud, and I raise one arm and let him crawl into my space until we’re flush together, his head resting against my shoulder. 

He makes a pleased noise, like the purr of a cat finally having found the right sleeping position after kneading the pillow for an eternity. 

“I miss this sometimes,” Timmy says, low against my skin. “In Crema, at least I could touch you whenever I wanted.”

I don’t know what to say to that. After months, even years of playing this game with him, suddenly, I don’t have it in me to retort with a lighthearted phrase. Or even a serious but all in all innocent one. 

I think about how different we are, he and I. From different worlds, different upbringings, different notions of how to carry ourselves and how to express affection. I wonder if my mind is spinning a narrative that is not even there.

But deep inside, I’m sure that he must know that this is not normal. That sharing a bed like we’re doing right now, embracing so tightly as if we’re trying to become one person - that this is not how I am with other friends. Clearly, he must see that this is a dangerous dance we’re performing, two figures in a room without light, neither sure of their role, neither knowing the steps, but both hearing the same music and finding each other in the dark. 

“What are we doing?” I press my question into the top of his hair, barely making enough sound for him to hear me. No answer comes. 

Timmy’s breath is deep and slow, hitting my shoulder in a soft rhythm. I listen to him sleep, while my own mind whirls and my body is tense and hot, where it’s curled around his. And where I can feel him being hard against my hip.


End file.
